"I will give you the chance to rethink what you just said and do what I told you," he said, a menacing look falling over his face. I could tell by the glare and the threatening act that this man hated being disobeyed—and I hated being told what to do.
"I've done what you've asked me, but one thing I refuse to do is take my clothes off for you," I said, making sure to look him straight in the eyes. I already felt terrible for marrying for money, and now I had to take my clothes off for him? He didn't even love me.
He clenched his fist and stared at me for a minute. I looked away, unable to bear the burning look he was giving me. I gazed out the window, imagining different outcomes for this situation, my body shaking in my seat from fear. I didn't know what this man was capable of—for heaven's sake, he looked like he was capable of anything.
The sound of fabric tearing and the sudden loosening of my wedding dress made me jump in my seat. I turned to look at him in disbelief. I couldn't believe it. In his hands, he held a piece of fabric that had come off the dress I was wearing.
"Now you can change into something better," he said, throwing the fabric next to me and looking away. I think I made a mistake by signing that contract. I married a monster.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I took off the rest of the dress, a million ideas racing through my head about how I could escape this man. I slid the dress down my legs, trying not to look at him, but from the corner of my eye, I saw his head slightly tilt in my direction.
"Take off those stockings," he said huskily. I rolled my eyes through the tears that were now streaming down my face.
I decided not to say anything in return and just keep quiet. There was nothing I could do to make him be kind to me, so I might as well stay out of his way and let him think he had control. I finished changing, and the car stopped a second later. A young lady with a makeup bag slid in and sat opposite me. She opened her bag and started working on my face.
Dan was now furiously typing away on his cellphone, pretending not to notice what was going on. I looked at him, expecting him to say something, but he didn't. With each minute that passed, I wanted to scream so badly. Why was he treating me like I was his property? The young woman finished her work and left us in silence.
He turned to look at me, his face still void of any emotion. I couldn't tell whether he liked what he saw or not.
"When we go inside, I want you to look as happy as you think a bride who just got married to the love of her life would feel," he said while typing on his phone and sparing me another glance.
"Why do your workers never say anything when you're around?" I asked, unable to hold back the question that had been burning in my mind since this morning. The man who walked me down the aisle had looked concerned with every move I made, which meant he was scared of his boss.
"That's none of your business," he snapped, giving me a sharp look. Well, there went my attempt at making him my friend.
He knocked on the driver's window. The car started moving again, slowly. I slumped back in my chair, drowning in my sorrow. We made a turn, and instantly, I could hear commotion—paparazzi.
I sat up straight. This was the main reason we made this deal: to fool the reporters. The car stopped, and the butler came and opened the door for us. Dan got out first, standing with his arm stretched out for me to hold. I slid my hand into his and smiled for the camera.
It had been hours standing in high heels, and my toes felt like they were on fire. I'd greeted nearly every one of the five hundred guests who came to celebrate us, and I hadn't seen Dan in over an hour. And though not seeing him was actually a relief, I desperately needed to take off my shoes and get some sleep. But I couldn't even do that not without his permission.
I decided to head to the bathroom, just so I could sit down and give my aching feet a break. As I walked closer, I noticed a man pinning a woman to the wall. I froze, my heart pounding, and glanced around, terrified someone might see me witnessing this. But then I looked closer, and my stomach turned; I recognized him.
A wave of hot rage surged through me. The pain in my toes vanished. All I could see was red. I stormed toward them, ready to tear them apart.
"What the fuck, Dan?" I shouted. My voice echoed, slicing through their little bubble. The man jolted and looked up, and my face flushed with shame as I realized my terrible mistake. It wasn't him.
"Emerald, where have you been?" That voice. I spun around and saw Dan storming toward me, his strides long and furious. He grabbed my arm, hard enough to make me flinch, and shot me a glare like I was some lost child who'd embarrassed him.
"I told you not to leave my side," he seethed through gritted teeth. I blinked at him in disbelief. Why was he treating me like a child?
"Dan, you didn't even tell me you got married. You're so secretive. Dad would've been proud," the man, who looked so much like Dan it was uncanny, said with a smirk, stepping closer.
"Not now, Tyson," Dan snapped, barely sparing him a glance as he tightened his grip on my hand and dragged me away. And despite the humiliation, the roughness, and everything else, a small, shameful part of me felt strangely safe with his big, warm hand wrapped around mine. Like, for once, someone had me.
He practically dragged me outside with how fast he was walking. I kept glancing back; the man, Tyson, was watching us, ignoring the woman he'd been all over seconds ago. That was odd.
The driver pulled up at the curb, and I silently prayed we were finally going home, where I could collapse into bed and shut out this nightmare.
When we arrived, my heart sank. The house was big, yes, but it felt cold and unfamiliar, no different from the home I'd lost to the bank thanks to my father's debts.
"Are you coming, or are you going to stand there with your mouth hanging open?" Dan snapped as he strode toward the house. I sighed, biting back the urge to kick him right where it would hurt most.
I followed him inside. We passed the first floor and climbed the stairs. He led me down a narrow hallway and opened a door. I stepped in, thinking maybe this was where I'd finally get some peace.
"This is our bedroom. The bed's big enough for the two of us not to even touch," he muttered. I blinked at him in disbelief. Did he actually expect me to share a bed with him? After the hell he'd put me through today?
"What?" he asked, annoyance sharp in his voice.
"How do you expect me to share a bed with you when you've made my day as horrible as humanly possible?" I snapped, my voice rising. The anger I'd bottled up all day finally boiled over.
"Stop being so emotional about everything. Make yourself at home," he said dismissively, turning on his heel and leaving the room. I stood there, staring at the massive bed, my mind racing with ways I could manage to share the room without actually sharing the bed.
I heard the front door slam shut downstairs. He was gone. I could feel it.
I stayed frozen for a while before deciding a shower might help clear my head. I dug out my pajamas from my bag and headed to the en-suite bathroom. After the shower, I realized I'd stupidly left my pajamas on the bed.
I glanced around the bathroom, looking for a robe. My eyes landed on a thick, purple robe tossed carelessly over the washing machine. I stood there, naked, debating. Should I risk darting out to grab my clothes? He wasn't here, but what if one of the staff saw me?
I sighed and slipped into the robe. It was big on me, warm, and smelled like him. That alone made me uncomfortable. As I stepped out, adjusting the belt around my waist, I froze. Dan was already standing by the bed, hands in his pockets, watching me intently.
His eyes raked over me, and I stiffened. I stared back, confused and defensive, but then I noticed it — the way his eyes darkened as they dropped lower, the smirk curling on his lips. He stepped toward me slowly, like a predator closing in.
My knees went weak. Without warning, he grabbed my waist and yanked me against him. My bare skin met his hard chest, and I gasped at the sudden contact.
"My robe looks good on you," he murmured, his voice low. Then he turned and walked out like nothing happened, not even sparing me a glance.
I stood there, heart pounding, not knowing what to make of him.
"Mrs. Cross," a soft voice called, making me jump. I turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway, her eyes glued to the floor. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You can call me Emerald," I said with a smile, trying to ease her obvious nerves. "What's your name?"
She looked at me like I'd asked her to solve a riddle. "You do have a name, right?" I teased gently as I grabbed my phone from the dresser to check for messages. "My name is Annabelle, ma'am."
"That's a pretty name. Anna," I said warmly. She blushed deeper. I decided then and there I needed something to distract me, I've been so cooped up in this house that I need to see people, or just be distracted for a moment.
I left the room, phone in hand, and wandered the hallways. As I reached the staircase, I noticed a door at the far end of the hall, slightly ajar, with a strange red light seeping through. I hesitated, my gut telling me to mind my business. But then again... It's not like I had anything better to do.
"It's not like I have anything else to do; on paper, this is also my house, so it's part of my business," I muttered, trying to justify my curiosity. I glanced around, making sure no one was watching, and tiptoed toward the door.
I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was dark except for the red glow. My eyes adjusted, and that's when I saw it — a chair in the corner, chains hanging loosely from it.
My stomach twisted.
I walked closer, my heart hammering. There was something wet on the chair. I reached out, almost in a trance, and touched it.
Sticky.
I pulled my hand back and looked at my fingers.
Blood.
I squealed, stumbling backward, my heart lodging in my throat.